


promises made in sweat

by lejf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi, but the sam/dean overpowers, dean makes out with some ofcs for a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lejf/pseuds/lejf
Summary: Dean comes home with five girls. He doesn't leave with any of them.





	

The door flew open with its usual bang and ricochet off the wall. Sam looked up expectantly from the table, his homework splayed out in front of him and two plates of cooling dinner sitting innocently on the wood.

But Dean was not alone.

Dean could even step out of his shoes flawlessly, on one heel and then the next, revealing his socked feet as he walked backwards through the doorway. The girl, though, had to pull away to tug at her laces, giggling some sort of “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Dean gave her a patient smile reserved for Sam, smoothing through her hair and curling a lock around his finger.

Sam’s blood ran cold. He was gathering up his papers, preparing to leave, heart beating in his ears, when a chorus of tittering laughter sounded from the front hall. Masochistic as he was, he couldn’t help but look. Had Dean brought an entire _harem?_

There were, in fact, four or so girls that had piled in after Dean and the blonde clinging to his shoulder. Sam felt a sudden hot rush of fury. Oh, so now Dean was trying to rub in his sexual prowess? _All_ these girls were better than Sam, were they? Dean picked them off the bars and high schools like candy, playing them into his hands indiscriminately. The only one he’d never pick was Sam.

He left his homework and the plates of dinner behind. He wasn’t getting any done tonight. He was going to go his room and crawl out of the window so he didn’t have to listen to Dean fucking through five girls tonight. Maybe he’d find that nice bench in the nearby park again. A policeman had found there, once, and Sam’d been good enough at acting to spin it off as some sort of sleepwalking habit.

Their gazes were heavy on him. He kept his eyes on the carpet and heard when another voice joined the chorus, lower. So it wasn’t just Dean and his harem, then. Dean’s latest buddy was some sort of football-playing idiot who was probably also led by his dick.

“Sammy!” Dean called from across the room. Sam froze. He had been so close to his door. Just one more step. “Come ‘ere.”

Sam turned, slowly, expression thunderous. They had sprawled themselves over and around the couch. Most of the girls were either pawing at Dean or his friend, not paying attention at all.

“We’ll let you pick whichever girly movie you want,” Dean said, tipping his head towards the television. Sam’s lips pressed into a tighter line. He didn’t see why Dean wanted _Sam_ to witness what’d inevitably be a bit of an orgy. Maybe he was trying to teach Sam to ‘put on the moves’. Some of them were high-school age, after all; but Sam didn’t want any of them.

Dean looked past the girls around him, over at the kitchen table. His expression softened. When he met Sam’s eyes again and patted the space by his leg, he was wearing a lopsided little smile, private and meant just for his little brother.

Dean was trying to make up for missing out on time with Sam, then. He was probably expecting Sam to leave before things dissolved into sex.

Before he could regret it, Sam was moving over to them, settling on the floor and leaning against Dean’s warm denim-clad leg. Other bare, waxed legs pressed by his shoulder as the girls clung to Dean.

Sam didn’t end up choosing the movie. Dean’s friend, Camus, apparently, chose some stupid action flick with all sorts of busty chicks sitting around like decorations. When Sam looked up, the first blonde had her lips against Dean’s, again, her hand cupping his face. Light danced across their skin, over the curve of her hand and the line of Dean’s jaw, like Sam was watching two movies at once: the one on the screen, and the one above him. He was aware of Dean’s leg warm against him like a live wire.

Sounds played on the television, unable to mask the wet sound of lips against lips.

The other girls were smoothing their hands over Dean’s chest, or kissing each other, their messy saliva catching the light from the screen like glints of metal. Sam watched as the girl kissing Dean tipped her head to whisper into his ear, and then Dean was reaching over to his friend and tugging at his shoulder. Camus looked up, and then Dean leaned in and caught his mouth.

Sam caught his intake of breath before it could escape. The sight of two men kissing was foreign to him, displacing, like some steadfast rule of his universe had been warped in that moment. It wasn’t just two men. It was _Dean,_ and that made all the difference in the world. Dean, his lips giving way to the other man’s, a flash of tongue, his lashes fanned out and his freckles faint.

A shirt fell to the ground next to Sam.

Fuck, Sam was going to leave. Sex was coming, all too quickly, and no one would notice if he left, anyway. He’d just started to rise when Dean’s leg hooked into his and tugged him back. The socked foot against the inside of his thigh made him gasp, made his dick leap in his boxers and flush darkly.

He looked up, and Dean had pulled away to look down at him. His eyes were dark, dilated, hooded, and his lips were still slick and wet. His hair was tousled, his jacket lost somewhere on the floor to reveal the definition of his arms. Every edge of him was thrown in light. He looked like something out of a dream, then, gaze intense; and Sam couldn’t help but feel that he was some sort of animal captured in the middle of the road, stunned by Dean’s headlights.

He knew he should’ve left, but Dean’s foot shifted again, further up his thigh this time, toes flexing in a deliberate knead. Sam bit back a groan, head tipping back against the couch, watching as girls swirled above and around him in sinuous curves, skin showing, fingers roaming over each other. They seemed far away; all that anchored him to the present was Dean’s foot sliding up his leg.

When Dean reached his clothed dick, Sam gave a full-bodied jerk and clutched at Dean’s leg, holding it desperately, rutting up into the friction. He thought he heard Dean’s breath catch, then the pressure vanished and Sam arched into its absence desperately. _Dean,_ he mouthed silently, _Dean._ Time seemed to speed up without him, leaving Sam drowning behind, aching for the past, throbbing where he sat.  

The foot returned, bare now, sliding against his cheek and down between his legs. He was dimly aware of what a wanton sight he must’ve made, hips twitching up into it, pressing clumsy open-mouthed kisses to Dean’s leg for him not to leave again. It was rough, not smooth and waxed like the girls’, but Sam didn’t care. It was _Dean._

The sounds around him were picking up, clothing all over the floor, a girl’s high wail echoing in his ears, the slap of skin on skin. Someone appeared in front of Sam like a mirage, delicate lithe fingers ghosting under his chin and turning his head towards them. When they leant in, they wrapped him in the scent of sweetness and flowers, then Sam’s lips were pressed to another soft pair. He tasted the chalkiness of lipstick when he dared slip his tongue out, and he just raised his hands to hold her when–

Something lurched behind him, Dean surging forwards with something that sounded like a growl. The girl in front of Sam disappeared, and before he knew it a different scent was surrounding him, wrapping around him, hooking an arm under his leg and raising him up until he was sitting against the warmth of Dean’s chest and his legs, Dean’s cock a thick and pressing heat against the thinness of his shirt.

Fingers, at his fly, tugging his jeans down, calloused hands and rough fingertips catching the pale skin of his thighs as they ran over Sam’s legs. Sam’s head fell back against Dean’s shoulder, his lips parting in a silent moan. Dean, the only clarity in Sam’s vision, was watching him, eyes darting down to Sam’s mouth and staying there.

Finally, _finally,_ Dean raised a hand and gently tilted Sam’s head towards him, hesitated just a moment, doubt dancing in the green of his eyes, then captured Sam in a kiss. His lips slid neatly of Sam’s bottom one, nibbling, then running his tongue over to soothe. Sam’s awareness shrunk down to the points where he was touching Dean: the slickness of their mouths against each other, the twitch of Dean’s dick against his back. Dean was sliding his hands up Sam’s shirt, feeling over the unblemished skin there, relishing in the the heat and heartbeat of Sam.

“Dean,” Sam gasped when they parted. He was not thinking about the girls around them who carefully left them alone, nor the other man who was bending one over and fucking her against the armrest.

Dean heaved forwards to kiss him again, hot and demanding, taking everything. Kissing Dean was like giving up all his sins, having them peeled out of him, burning and freeing all at once. Dean’s firm hands pulled aside Sam’s boxers and and grasped his dick, and then Sam could not kiss any more for throwing his head back and being swept away in sensation.

He rutted back against Dean, feeling Dean groan open-mouthed against his neck when his dick slipped between the heat of Sam’s ass, spreading precome there.

“Baby,” Dean muttered against him, spilling nonsense now. “So beautiful for me, so perfect, gonna get you so wet for me, baby.”

Sam was flushed up to his neck, curled up on Dean’s lap when Dean reached to one of the girls kneeling next to them, eating another out. He dipped his finger into her, then spread her wetness to the furl of Sam’s hole, pressing in. Sam whined, arched back, and Dean was murmuring into his skin once again. “That’s it, Sammy, so tight for me. Just for me, Sammy.”

“Yes,” Sam said back as Dean swiped at the head of his cock to gather precome and pushed in another finger. “Yes, for you, Dean, for you.” Dean worked him open until Sam was shoving back on his two fingers, chanting for more, more against that secret spot in him; but Dean seemed frustrated, Sam not wet enough.

Someone shoved a tube into Sam’s hands, and he fumbled to get the cap open, knowing that the sooner he got the lube in him the sooner _Dean_ would be in him. He coated his fingers in the cool wetness, reaching back and spreading his legs out to slide a finger in beside Dean’s. There was something all too vulnerable about the position, Sam out on display for everyone to see, his cock still red and leaking against his stomach, his hole stretched out.

Sam was being carried again when Dean swept him up with one arm under his knees, the other still buried in him. They burst into Dean’s own room, the door slamming shut behind them. Sam hadn’t noticed how noisy the other room had been until it was silent, hadn’t really noticed the loudness of his own moans and Dean’s heavy pants, nor the sound of fingers sliding into him. Soft covers surrounded him as Dean lay him down and covered him, kissing as though Sam would be gone the next morning.

The fingers pulled out to be replaced with the thickness of a blunt cock head, pushing gently but steadily until Sam opened for him. Sam felt the world around him unravel, fly to pieces, come back together with some irreplaceable part of him wound to Dean. He clutched at his brother desperately, begging him to move, as if begging him to understand that he’d made a pledge — a promise and binding made in sweat.

“So perfect for me,” Dean was babbling. “So beautiful, Sammy. So tight for me. So perfect.”

“For you,” Sam said again, “all for you, Dean. For you.”

Then Dean whispered, against Sam’s chest, like it was some sort of heavy secret, “So hard for you, too, Sammy– all this for you. All my- my love, for you–”

Sam could not say that he’d ever been a whole, individual, distinct individual with no ties to the outer world. He’d always been connected to Dean, somehow, whether bound by the endless streak of highway or the rumble of the Impala, or just the faithful hands of _time._ But it was different now; Sam gave himself and gave himself willingly in the heat of roving hands and whispered words of love.  

He came in ropes of white, clenching hard around Dean— and he must have passed out, vision shutting for a moment — because when he was aware again, Dean was pulling out, come trickling from Sam, kissing him again, murmuring. Through a haze, Dean cleaned him and then tucked him under the blankets, a rough sort of parody of their childhood, because in this reality Dean slid in after him, draping a warm arm over his side and pressing a final goodnight kiss to his shoulder in a promise that they’d never be apart.

Sam would worry about his acceptance letter to Stanford later.

**Author's Note:**

> i guess i become really prolific before i'm going to die.
> 
> grossly unedited. if i made some really embarrassing spelling mistakes, please tell me :(


End file.
